Gato Gellato
by Predominantly Normal
Summary: Amethyst plays a prank. Peridot falls for it. [Amedot/Oneshot]


It happened while you were working.

You had just finished bolting in yet _another_ wiring panel for the drill (you seemed to go through those like mad) and began to head back to your desk to get more supplies. A welding tool, that's all you wanted. A stupid, simple tool.

Your... cohorts had forced you to keep your desk outside of the barn, vulnerable to the unstable atmosphere of the planet. It's a logically flawed plan, but they don't seem to see the imperative deficiencies you have pointed out. Or they do, and they simply choose to ignore it because while they may need you, they hardly respect you. They believe it is more important that Steven be allowed sleep. And, as they've pompously pointed out- the noise produced while you rummage for tools has been disturbing him.

It doesn't seem to occur to them that sleep is logically flawed as well. However, Steven needs sleep. Or rather, he believes he does to keep his human half from deteriorating.

His defective, disgusting, _precious_ human half.

He tells you that sleep is quite a relaxing and enjoyable experience. You think that it is, like him, and like everything else the Crystal Gems touch- faulty.

Your small feet carry you to the workbench, and you kneel down to fish out the blowtorch. Your fingers clasp around the neck of the desired tool, and you move to get up, but you're stopped halfway. You're shackled. A strange furred creature sits on your lap, curled around you like you're some kind of- what did Steven call it?- bed.

You furrow your brow and your jaw slackens. As part of your immersion into earthen life, Steven had taken the agency to educate you to some of the planet's inhabitants. He'd dug out an old circle chart of general earth lifeforms. When one spun the chart and pressed the yellow activator on top, the toy would reveal some elementary-level information on both the animal's classification and the sound they produced. You presume the function of this informative device is to aid in the identification of these animals, so one could be warned of their potentially dangerous presence.

You remember cycling through this chart- and though the graphics provided to you were a crass simplification, you believe to identify this furred creature upon your lap as a cat.

It is most likely a subgroup of the cat species, as the cat from the chart had a short orange pelt. This cat is instead dressed in long silky white hairs that splay out over your legs like solid water. You stare at it fearfully. It is nearly three quarters your size in fur alone.

The cat: Meow.

Ah yes, the sound confirms it. A cat.

Rather similar to a lion, although a tad different as Steven had informed you when you asked him to remove his pet from your work space. Cats are smaller, more docile, and apparently, as the information cube has told you, commonly known as refugees from interstellar wars.

You don't know if this cat is dangerous, but you don't wish to find out. You growl and swat at the animal.

You: Shoo! Release me from your fur-prison, you common barn pet!

The cat does not seem to acknowledge your demands. It produces a low rumbling noise and only shifts itself further upon your thigh.

You: You dull beast! I said get off!

You shove it as hard as you can, and you are punished with sharp knife-like claws that sink into the light-woven fabric of your jumpsuit. You yelp in shock, and tears spring to your eyes.

You: Ow!

The cat: Mrrr.

For fear that you will be further injured, you sit still. Rigidly so. Who knows what will set this horrible creature off? It's a bomb. A deceptive, fur-covered bomb.

A bomb that is now nuzzling into your palm.

You rip your hand away and stare at the animal with wide eyes.

The cat: Meow?

You relax just an inch. Is it asking you a question? Do animals contain the thought process complex enough to comprehend such a thing? Perhaps this one does.

You: What do you want with me, you filthy beast?

The cat nuzzles your hand again and licks it. The tongue is scratchy- a bit like soft sandpaper- but it does not injure you. In fact, you are appalled to find that it feels... nice.

You: What are you doing? I demand you explain yourself at once.

The cat: Meow.

You sigh.

You: An astute explanation.

Horrifyingly enough, the cat appears to laugh, its lips drawing up. How creepy. The animal nuzzles you again, softer this time, and leads your hand down its head and to its neck. Something clicks in your head, and your eyebrows raise.

You: You want...?

You cautiously replace your hand at the creature's head, scratching behind its perked ears. You repeat the motion of running your fingers down its body, stroking it to the arch of its back. The cat makes another rumble, but this time it comes from the chest rather than from the throat.

You: Eep!

You pull your hand away, awaiting the sting of that cat's defensive knives. Curiously, they don't come. All you receive is a sad look with large eyes and another question.

The cat: Meow?

You: Y-you... did you... _like_ that?

The cat: Meow.

You take this as a yes, although the certainty you make that assumption with frightens you just a bit. You stroke the animal again, petting it from ears to tail. The animal raises its haunches as you reach the base of its tail and you find yourself smiling. What a strange creature.

It makes the rumbling sound again, but you find yourself unafraid. This sound is unlike the one it made when you pushed it. This sound is pleased.

You pet the animal mindlessly, wondering if you could wriggle away from it should you manage to lure it to the common earthen affliction that is sleep. Strangely, the monotonous action begins to make your body relax. The neatly combed hair through your fingers and the animal's warmth feels offhandedly good. You shift back so that you can lean against the support of your desk and you rub the cat carefully.

Your eyelids waver in strength. This cat is surely some embodiment of drowse magic, because you find your shoulders slumping and your mind dulling. You've never been tired before, but you know that this feeling of finding your eyelids weighted and your body sore is nothing short of exhaustion. Perhaps Steven is right, and you have been working too hard.

You don't remember falling asleep, but when you wake the next morning, you're tucked into Steven's makeshift bed, and the cat is merely a fleeting dream.

* * *

To your equal horror and disdain, you can't stop thinking about the cat. It's not a conscious decision you make every time the memory of its dark eyes come into your head. Rather, it's something that just slips in whilst you absentmindedly do other chores. It's horribly detrimental to your work.

You know the cat was real. You can still find strands of its hair caught in your jumpsuit. And stars, you've never dreamed before but you know that's not what it feels like.

As Steven knows much more about Earth's variety of creatures, being a native to the forsaken planet, you decide to consult your grievances to him.

He comes to your desk at sun high, eating what he calls a sandwich. Eating is another odd concept of his weak human half- one that you've tried before. While the pure taste of food is not ultimately horrible, the process of depositing the food from one's body is... revolting, at best.

You, for the sixth time that day, start imagining the cat. You're hammering in a nail when suddenly, you feel the warm body pressed to your lap, rumbling softly in contentedness. You drift off to the musical tone of the various noises the animal makes.

And then, as you daydream, you stop thinking and slam the hammer on your fingers.

You: Ow ow! _Gah!_ Stupid faulty pulverizer!

You throw the hammer away from you and the teeth used to remove nails gets stuck in the wood of the barn. The hammer simply hangs there, inches above Steven's head. He looks up at it in muted horror, and then scoots a bit to the side.

Steven: Peridot, are you doing okay?

He carefully pats his head to make sure it's unharmed.

You: I am doing wonderfully! So stop bothering me!

Steven: Oooh-kay...

He gets up and holds his hands out in defense, slowly backing away.

You pause. You must consult Steven about the cat. You cannot do that if he is on the other side of the barn. You sigh and turn to him, locking eyes.

You: Steven, I would like to ask something.

Steven: Uh, okay? What about?

You: Nothing.

You say quickly, unsure of the completion to which you have thought this out. Perhaps telling him of the cat is a bad idea after all. What if he thinks you're crazy? You can't afford to lose his respect. What if the cat wasn't true after all, and you're delusional?

You: I seem to have misplaced my train of mental process. I apologize.

Steven laughs. He thinks you talk funny, like an alien. You know the way you talk isn't normal for Earth inhabitants, but you're trying, and all these expressions and idioms confuse you. At least he understands that you're trying. That's what counts.

Steven: Oh, well you'll get it again I bet!

He sits back down, albeit shielding himself just a tad behind the workbench should you find the need to throw more tools.

You bite your lip.

You: I have decided that the train has returned. Steven, can you tell me anything about... cats?

Steven: Uh, yeah, sure. What do you want to know?

You: What is the mental processing power of an average cat? How much do they understand?

You pause and look down before speaking up again.

You: How long do they live?

Steven frowns. He takes a thoughtful bite of his sandwich and licks his lips.

Steven: Well, I really don't know anything that specific. I bet Pearl could probably take you to the library. They have tons of books about cats n' stuff.

Libraries! Aha! Finally, something that this pitiful earth and Homeworld have in common! You are very glad to know that these informative data houses are universal. You decide to set up a library date at once.

You: Yes, wonderful. Thank you, you may leave now.

Steven: Aw, I really wanted to watch you-

You: _You may leave now._

Steven: Alright...

As you have exhausted the use of Steven, and as your hand is still throbbing from when you struck it, you decide to seek out Pearl immediately.

She's wiring a circuit board, sucking her lips in concentration. She hardly notices you until you're practically standing atop her. She looks up and smiles warmly.

Pearl: Hello, Peridot. Did you need something? Another tall shelf to reach, perhaps?

You fume. You're horribly short being stripped of your enhancers, but stars, you're no a stranger to a ladder!

You: No. I was actually wondering if you could escort me to the local library.

Pearl raises a brow. She doesn't expect you to care about the information there. She doesn't expect you to care about the earth you are protecting. You sigh. Perhaps that's a fair assumption given your history.

Pearl: The library?

You: That's what I said, yes.

Pearl: I suppose we could have a field trip tomorrow... Steven has been talking of this new book series he wishes to read... Alright, I'm sold! We can go tomorrow as long as I finish this circuit.

You: Wonderful.

You turn on one heel and march away, satisfied. You don't think of the cat for the rest of the afternoon.

But then night comes, and along with it, the creature of your thoughts.

It hops upon your desk just as you finish adjusting an equation on your blueprints. It licks your cheek, and your eyes shoot up at the familiar sensation.

You: You! Clod! Where were you today?

The cat: Meow.

You: Why do I keep asking you things beyond your abilities of vocalization? Ugh! Still, I suppose you're here now.

The cat flashes a grin, digging its wet nose into your cheek and licking you once more. It prods at your shoulders and prompts you to sit down. You shake it off as politely as possible.

You: Look, you rat. I can't right now. I'm working, see? -you hold up your pencil and point to the blueprints the cat is sitting on- Working. If I don't work, we'll all be obliterated and die, and because none of the other clods here seem to find that concerning...

You break off with a growl. Why are you confiding in this creature? Who knows how much it truly understands? What if it understands nothing? You'd be wasting your energy relaying pointless information to a creature who cannot possibly understand the complexities of your emotions! Worse, what if it understands everything? It could be a spy, or a trap, it could tell the crystal gems everything...

You shake the idea off. You wish you weren't so paranoid. You wish it could understand why you are hesitant to relax upon its prompting. How much _could_ it possibly comprehend?

Enough, it seems. The cat nuzzles you almost affectionately and this time, it convinces you to rest. You settle and it climbs back upon your lap, kneading its paws into your thigh. It feels nice. Almost as if the animal is trying to reciprocate the touches you offer it.

You pet it and it makes the happy rumbling noise once more.

You: You mangy fleabag... you enjoy this, don't you? Tell me, does your type derive pleasure from seducing your superiors into comforting you?

The cat yawns, which you accept as a yes. You pet it with more courage than on the first night, feeling its fur part between your fingertips. The cat mews and butts its head on your chin. You stifle a laugh and resist the urge to hug the animal to your chest. It's so warm.

What a stupid animal.

You: You live a very short life.

The cat: Meow.

You: A mere blink of existence to mine.

The cat: Meow.

You: You could die tomorrow.

The cat: Meow.

You grin.

You: Or perhaps you will live after all. Clod.

The cat seems to chuckle and it looks at you with eyes that strike you as familiar., as if it is an old friend. You blush and let the animal knead at your stomach, laughing a bit at the sensation.

The cat: Meow.

You: Yes, I'm fairly glad we got that worked out as well.

You smile and pet the animal, and it kisses you back. You don't need to worry about how much it understands, because deep down, you can't imagine yourself understanding more.

* * *

As you read one of your many new books, you dig through the heaps of trash in the barn in search of anything resembling a dish. The closest thing you find are an old pair of flight goggles fit for an owl. You decide that they will do.

You fill one side with water from Steven's lunch box, and the other with ham, also provided by Steven's lunch box. You figure that the cat has been leaving in the mornings to perform a hunting ritual. Therefore, by cutting out the need to hunt and providing it food, you are allotting more time for it to spend with you.

You don't like how much fascination the animal has garnered within you. After all, its life is so very short. You can only imagine that it will die eons before you waver in form, and it will deteriorate before you can even _attempt_ to forget about it. But you find that it makes the creature so much more precious.

And you wish to see it as much as possible before it dies.

You find the cat lapping up the water not twenty minutes later and grin.

You: Aha! My plan worked!

You rush up to the animal and slide down on your knees, petting it eagerly as it eats. The cat purrs and offers you a gentle lick. It rubs its head upon your hand and you gasp. The book had informed you that this was a cat's way of possessing one it loves. You find this possession a silly honor, but an honor nonetheless. To be owned by a creature more foolish than you! What a way this world worked.

You: You'll stay now, right? Now that I have food?

The cat finishes its meal and curls up on your lap.

But when you wake up without remembering falling asleep, it is gone.

* * *

You: I've been pitifully selfish. You must have a home.

The cat: Mew?

You: A home? You know, a shelter of sorts. I read about it. You wild cats have homes and napping spot and mates and kittens! And I'm wasting your time!

The cat: Meow.

You: Don't try to reassure me! I know of your home. And I know I am a distraction from it. Go, if you must. Go home.

The cat frowns and reluctantly gets off of you. It then lies down not a foot from your crossed legs. You scowl.

You: Are you toying with me? Go!

The cat does not move.

You: Argh! Whatever! Filthy creature, see if I care!

You stand up and get back to work. It's the first night in a solid week that you've worked, and it feels exhausting. You want nothing more than to let the cat climb back upon you and rest, but you need to prove something to it. You need to prove that distractions from life are not to be doted on. Is the cat a distraction to you? It fits the requirements, so it must be.

And yet, you regret putting such an impersonal label on it. You sigh and settle back down, stroking the cat behind the ears.

You: I missed you today. I know the Gems think they mean well, but... I'm horribly alone here, aren't I? You don't seem to care about what I've done, though. You and Steven. I am grateful for that.

You wonder if the cat knows that you are less than a good person. You hope it doesn't.

You like confiding in it. It's not like the tape recorder- when you talk to it, it responds. It doesn't judge you, either. It doesn't tell you if whether what you're doing is right or wrong. You don't feel like you're stumbling around a dark room with this animal. You feel as if you're on even ground. And for someone who's always falling, even ground is a great virtue.

Eventually, you exhaust yourself and so does the animal. You rub under its chin as it sleeps, and scratch the soft chest. Suddenly, your fingers bump against something hard. You draw your brows together and part the fur on the animal's chest. And you gasp.

Amethyst.

* * *

You still leave food out. You still pet the creature every night as if you don't know they're the very gem you complain about ruthlessly. Because you need this. And if you must pretend for an hour or or two every night to forget what you know, you will.

And Amethyst indulges you. Even when you know that she knows that you know.

It's a chilly night when you hear the gentle pad of footsteps behind you. You know what it is. Only one creature on the face of this earth visits you at this time.

You: Ah, mangy beast.

Amethyst: Actually, it's me.

You: Oh! Uh- Amethyst! Sorry, I... Mistook you for someone else!

You're thankful that your back is turned, because your face is burning and your hands shake. You fear this confrontation more than you fear the corrupted monsters the Crystal Gems make a job of harvesting.

Amethyst sits next to you, keeping a noticeable amount of distance. She has a slice of ham in her hands. She shoves it in her mouth. Chews. You find it disgusting.

You sigh. No point pretending anymore.

You: Why did you do this?

Amethyst: I thought it'd be funny to mess with you. But wait! Before you say anything!

You suck back in the breath you nearly released.

Amethyst: I thought it was funny- at first! But i actually really enjoyed it after the second night! And you needed me. Not me, actually. The cat. You needed it, didn't you? To talk to? Cause you felt alone.

You can't lie to Amethyst. You've already told her everything, even if you didn't realize it at first.

You: That is... Correct. Begrudgingly so.

Neither of you say anything for a long time. Suddenly, you feel a warmth on your side. Amethyst has leaned on it. You sigh and set down your hands to stroke her hair as you have done in the nights before. It feels the same. Amethyst thumbs circles into your thigh.

Amethyst: I'm sorry, Peri.

You: I know you are.

When you wake up in the morning, for the first time, the cat has not moved an inch.


End file.
